“You needn’t worry about me squealing,” Clay said. “I learned how to keep my mouth shut when you ruffians were serving your last sentence in the penitentiary.”
One of the men drew out a knife and flashed it angrily before the boy’s face.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” he said, “and you, Ben, chase up to the north and get the kid that followed Max. We’ll tie ’em up together.”
Clay was now drawn to his feet and his hands tied tightly behind his back. In this condition, he was marched swiftly through the brush, vines and boughs striking his unprotected face. He paid little attention, however, to his physical discomforts. He was listening for some indication of the capture of Alex.
[CHAPTER XIX—A SPLASH OF WATER]
Much to Clay’s amazement, his captor kept to the east following a ridge of rocks from which both rivers might be seen in the distance whenever the foliage did not intervene. After walking half a mile or more, the fellow turned his steps into a narrow gully and soon entered a natural cavern before which a campfire had been built.
“Now, you pretty little creature,” he said, addressing Clay, “you’re going to be tied up here and left until you return the map which was given to you by mistake.”
“A map of what?” asked Clay instantly.
“A map of this country,” was the short reply.
“I’m not giving out maps at present,” the boy answered.